


A Desert Beast's Reprieve

by SweetScone



Category: Bravely Default (Video Game) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bathing Nude, Bravely Second - Freeform, Cunnilingus, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Provocation, Reader-Insert, Sensuality, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 12:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6657592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetScone/pseuds/SweetScone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no rest for the workers of the desert -or so the Jackal thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Desert Beast's Reprieve

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a short break from my Fire Emblem one-shots series: this idea had been pestering me for a while, especially since I began playing Bravely Second. I really liked the Jackal in the first game too!
> 
> I tried to approach this smut with a more... "sensual" touch? Can't say if it was really successful, it's kind of hard to react to your own writing, just like when you're tickling yourself, ya know?
> 
> Anyway, enjoy :D!

The sun blisters his already tan skin. With the folded tip of his scarf around his neck, he wipes away the sweat gathering on his brow. Heat accumulates increasingly in the surrounding dunes of sand, warping the horizon into restless serpentine lines. The Jackal is parched, and yet the line to the oasis spreads further than his eyes care to see, vision blurred by the sun’s sovereign light. He’ll have to wait until dusk, when travelers scurry to find shelter from the night’s unforgiving cold.

For now he watches the awaiting pilgrims attentively, like a shepherd’s hound surveying an unruly herd, intervening only when neighboring wanderers grow agitated or frisky. The sun retaliates in akin fashion, its incandescent and ever-watchful eye scorching the land as it bores down feverishly.

…

When finally the crowd of people disperse, the sun has long been lidded behind the rumbling, singing hills of sand, the crisp coolness of the dark blue night settling over the expanse of the desert in its stead. The Jackal sighs contentedly as his grunts and companions guide the travelers away, leading them to an area of provisional respite. The Jackal remains behind, enjoying the sudden stillness that ravishes the land. His gloved hand tugs at his scarf, allowing his lungs to gratefully engulf the fresh air.

The makeshift serenity that fills him then is one reminiscent of his thieving days, where in the dead of night he would find the sweet and flimsy reprieve of sleep –an ephemeral moment to forget his daily worries, how he would eat and survive to see the next day.

The water bites pleasantly at his fingers when finally he kneels on the slope of the oasis’ stagnant pool, the anticipated drink flowing eagerly in his muddy mouth, inspiriting his whole being as his throat welcomes it agape. His traits clear up and relax once his face drips from the crystalline liquid, the envy of bathing his whole self to relieve his taut muscles budding in his mind –he would do well to hurry lest the hour grows colder.

Barely has he disposed of his gloves and accessories, scarf and wrist bands slumped on the ground, that his keen senses pick up the distinct shuffling of sand, hand shooting to the dagger on his hip –a thief old’s habit-, head spinning around and eyes alight like a predator’s on his prey –but it’s only a woman.

The individual seems edgy, yet you pursue your approach, desperately aiming for the body of water behind him. Seconds later his hand drops its guard, shoulders slumping as if freed from an immense pressure. When you are only a feet or two from the man, his facial features  lit up from the moon’s placid light, you fearlessly unhook the veil protecting your face, revealing it bare to him, just as his own is.

Despite the woman’s seemingly harmless demeanor, the Jackal’s wariness persists, pupils darting quickly to her every movement –until the woman withdraws her face from the confines of fabric draping it. He’s seen pretty women. He’s witnessed beautiful women –but the one in front of him is certainly of another realm, another plane of ethereal existence, although only her face lies exposed in the scattered ivory light. The tarnished emerald of his eyes lingers greatly on the lines of her face, the curves of her roseate lips and the temperate outlines of her eyes overshadowed by rows of gentle lashes. When he remains motionless for longer than necessary, the woman looks shyly away, then back at him – _him_ -, the depth of her gaze crossing his own. Then-

-you smile earnestly, laughing gingerly at the delicate yet awkward silence instilled between the two of you. Even you are entranced by the somewhat tame yet harsh features of his dark face, undoubtedly hardened through years of desert scavenging. Your laugh however appears to dissolve his vigilant composure, and now he is the one flustered, eyes adrift in the distance and hands hovering behind his head to occupy himself.

“What _is_ it?” a mellow, but raw voice when he speaks.

Your finger peeks out amidst the layers of robes covering you, “I’d just like to have a drink.”

His confounded expression suggests he’d forgotten all about that possibility, “O-oh, sure.”

With a teasing smile, you dart past him, halting when you notice the discarded pieces of equipment in the sand. A quick glance at him suffices to confirm it’s his –it serves just as well for you to note his slim but sculpted abdomen under the remaining cloth of his sleeveless jacket.

“Although… were you going to bathe?” eyes aflame with mischief, unyielding attention on him.

The Jackal’s pride flares mightily: surely you’re mocking him. His stance stiffens, a hostile snarl gurgling in his throat, fangs and words ready to bite back in retaliation. However, for the second time –although not the last- of the night, his body loses all capacity: the scarf on your head is gone, blending in his own gear, your hands tugging at your robes as you kick your sandals off. His complexion darkens further when the gleaming skin of your legs emerges amongst the fabric, the material clinging to your curves as it rides up your body –the Jackal can’t help but associate them to the sinuous and polished arcs of the heaps of sand, the softness of yours surely finer than the fleeting particles.

Your garment is folded on your arm, pressing against the mounds of your immaculate breasts, their peak standing proud to attention from the night’s chilling breeze.

“Well? I would prefer not to freeze out here.”

Your robe is thrown with the rest, your figure now bare to the Jackal’s hungry eyes –and the jackal is never one to let prey escape when on an empty stomach. Your behind is now facing him –taunting him- as your feet breach the smooth surface of the water, legs soon submerged while you take advantage of the moment to drink a bit. A few precise, hasty motions and his boots, pants and whatnot have also been abandoned with the remainder of his clothes.

When the lapping of water has subsided, the Jackal now unabashedly staring at you yet utterly motionless, you angle your body towards him, rewarding him with the sight of your wet, glistening skin. You bite your lower lip as you study the chiseled lines of his chest and muscled arms, your insides coiling agitatedly at the way his febrile eyes blaze hole into your frame.

You whisper hotly, “Are you afraid of getting burned..?” you wring and twist your hair, pushing your upper chest forward to the pleasure of his unrelenting gaze.

The Jackal needn’t more provocation: his body clashes with yours, his hot, searing skin pressing onto your supple one, hands sinking into your hair as his mouth claims yours greedily. His teeth nip at your lower lip wantonly, desire palpable as his hands now wander on the undulating outlines of your figure, fingers testing and clasping, palms caressing and stroking every mound of flesh they cross.

Your pelvis thrusts enticingly into his, coaxing him into reciprocating, his tongue darting expertly into your mouth as it finds your own, the two of them squirming and finally intertwining lewdly. As your lidded eyes meet when your bodies pull away for air, the both of you know full well where this night is headed.

…

However, the temperature’s sting had been soon unbearable, and before more could unravel, the two of you had to retreat hastily, your hearty laugh dispersing into the obscure wasteland as you both clumsily attempted to dress up, eager to resume your heated intercourse. But his movements were swifter than yours: you’d been barely covered that he scooped you up on his shoulder, carrying you away like precious, newly-acquired loot –and secretly, you liked the idea.

You scarcely registered the path taken, the prolong meandering in some sort of cavernous hide-out. You had heard the laughter of men chatting merrily, bursting in renewed vigor as they noticed your silhouettes dashing past to the Jackal’s chambers.

There arrived, he unceremoniously laid you out on the bed, both of you undressing yet again, impatient to experience the sensation of the other’s skin.

As such, once more you are at the mercy of his exploring hands, surrendered to the fiery passion of his probing mouth; sucking, kissing, licking. Your sighs grow thicker with lust when it finds the beating pulse of your heart on your neck, spilling wet kisses on its length as he descends towards your breasts. There his mouth seals around your teat, tongue circling its areola with needy swipes. Your hands weave paths of derelict pleasure along the mane of his alabaster locks, clutching tightly at them when his fingers spread the wetness between your legs.

His pine eyes scan all minute reactions on your face, his girth straining between his legs when a digit prods your leaking entrance, splitting you delightful when it reaches into your deepest parts. Your skin reflects faintly the titian light of the crackling candles, the flames outlining and licking red-hot stripes on the creases of your body; like the sun on the desert when hanging at its zenith.

The Jackal is parched, but this time he has an oasis of his own.

His face plunges between your thighs, two fingers now penetrating your soaked womanhood while his tongue laps gently at the nub of your sensitivity. Your cries weight on his already brittle composure; his tongue quickly replaces his fingers in your sweltering core, hunting for the wetness slicking your walls. The muscle presses back and forth actively, running between your sleek folds languidly only to assume its earlier actions in the silky heart of your sex. Your limbs writhe against the bed’s sheets desperately, craving for more of the blissful shift of the Jackal’s tongue on your insides –or anything else.

The Jackal feels the same: his hips draw closer to your naked wetness, enthralled by the sight of your heaving chest. You plead him silently, arms laid back beside your head, bum scooting closer to sew the remaining distance between your two aching sex. His shaft then rides up and down in between your lips, smearing it with your juices as you revel both in the feeling of him rutting against your outer lips and the view of his abdominal muscles rippling as he rolls his hips.

Only seconds later the two of you join, the tip of his cock nestling in deep into you, jabbing slightly at your sensitive spot. The Jackal initiates a slow, gentle rhythm, your walls clamping down on his girth tightly as he recedes from your entrance. The leisurely pace does nothing to assuage the teasing want in your womb though, and you have to plead to go faster, to take you hard into the bed. At your words he rams in particularly vigorously, his hands cupping the back of your knees as he bends you further into the mattress.

He growls huskily when you push your hips up into him, his cock throbbing almost painfully from the yearning fueling him.  His silent groans morph to hoarse grunts, his pelvis snapping mercilessly onto the underside of your thighs as you moan out your pleasure openly. His pace becomes yet harsher when he anchors his hands beside you, his chest locking your legs in place as his feet provide leverage on the bed.

His shaft now sinks as deep as possible, stretching your walls repeatedly while he drills into your tender sex unyieldingly. Pressure builds up into your lower abdomen, your walls pulsing with the need for release. Sensing this, the Jackal bends onto you further, trapping you between his thick body and the mattress –he won’t last long either. Quiet and shaky breaths leave your lungs, a long, drawn-out cry ripping your voice as your walls suddenly clench in heavenly bliss around his cock. The pressure of your smooth muscles around him is intolerable, delivering upon him his own climax. Your bodies tense in unison, sweaty and slick with the aftermath of your activities.

You collapse on the bed, both ready to call it a night. The Jackal cover your naked forms with a thin blanket, your hugging bodies providing the necessary heat to warm up one another. With one swift breath, the candles are put out.

…

The Jackal is awake early: he still has his duty of guarding the oasis. His body is light, sneaky, his steps silent and cautious. His eyes study your naked frame as you sleep, while he dresses up for yet another oppressive day of heat. His fingers dare skim the surface of your skin, tracing the alluring curves you exhibit.

The Jackal feels as if he’ll somehow more easily endure the tyrannical sun –if only you’ll be there to quench his thirst when the night creeps upon the wasteland.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a ton for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! Kudos&comments always welcome :)!


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